Chapter 8:
Bitter Ale
Trevus has allowed me to ride upright on Becky again, which is a mercy for my sore ribs. I just had to promise there wouldn’t be a repeat of yesterday.
My mind lingers on what Trevus said to Marcellus before the duel. He prohibited Marcellus from striking me in certain places, while I had no such restriction myself. The mightiest punch I could throw is of little threat to Marcellus, but Trevus was concerned about me getting hurt. Marcellus was only allowed to punch my torso. Trevus must have been worried that a strike to my joints may break them, and a hit to my head could knock me unconscious. He didn’t veto the duel, but he did ensure that I had some level of protection. The question is – why? He didn’t want me to get excessively hurt – does that mean he cares about my safety?
No. He’s a Versillian soldier. The wellbeing of a Mephian captive doesn’t matter to him. He was just ensuring that I wasn’t too injured to fulfill his plan.
Trevus leads us through open fields of tall grass, and Marcellus has a hold of Becky’s cord. While gray clouds smother the sunlight, I oriented myself from the stars last night. We’re traveling north. The people of Antiock used to tell me to go back north to where my kind belonged. I’ve taken that to mean that Mephia is somewhere to the north.
“Where are we headed?” I ask aloud.
“To a local settlement,” Giddius says.
“I mean where is our last destination? Where is the king?”
“The king is trapped in a castle,” Trevus says. It feels like they’re deliberately sidestepping my questions.
“And where is the castle?” I ask.
“You shall facilitate our entrance into the castle. That is all the knowledge you require,” Trevus says.
“But why-”
“The Captain has spoken,” Marcellus interrupts me.
I close my mouth. Marcellus has only ever referred to Trevus as ‘Captain’. Trevus’s rank of prince should be far more prestigious than a captain.
“You claim to be a prince of the House Cerillis, and that your father is King Tytius,” I say, “but the longer I’m with you, the less I believe that to be true.”
Marcellus breaks into a guttural laugh. “You told her you were a prince?”
Giddius chuckles. “I did not realize seducing the sorceress was necessary.”
Trevus laughs too. He looks back at me. “I have not deceived you, Jade. I have never claimed to be a prince of House Cerillis.”
“But you are of House Cerillis?” I ask.
“That I am.”
“And your father is King Tytius?”
“That he is.”
“Then why are you just called Captain?”
“I am the Captain of the Palace Guard, and my dear mother is not of House Cerillis.”
His mother isn’t married to the king? He’s not a prince. He’s an illegitimate child.
The sun has set, and the clouds overhead have thickened. The shrub covered hills obscure anything at a distance. A rolling thunder is creeping in, and cold air begins to nip at my arms.
Clouds coat us in drizzle. I tuck my arms close to keep warm. Giddius said that we would be staying in a settlement of some sort. I’m relieved that we won’t be sleeping out in the rain.
“We were scheduled to reach Cidon before sunset,” Marcellus grumbles.
“Would you have preferred to navigate?” Giddius says.
“Perhaps if I had, I would be sipping ale beside a hot fire at this moment,” Marcellus says.
Trevus looks back at them. “Marcellus, I recall an expedition where you believed us to be in the heartlands of Ceramaya. Shortly after we discovered a Versillian Castle.”
“Ceramayan terrain is easily confused with Versillian,” Marcellus says.
Both Trevus and Giddius chuckle. “Ceramayan is coastal,” Trevus says.
“Had we offered a gift to Nomier before venturing as I had desired, our feet would not have strayed,” Marcellus says.
Giddius laughs again. “What bearing does an old goddess hold over our feet?”
Marcellus smacks Giddius on the shoulder. “To insult Nomier is to invite death.”
“Worry not Marcellus.” Trevus points ahead. There’s a cluster of houses flickering with warm yellow light. “You shall be beside hot fire and full of ale soon.”
The drizzle thickens into a rain, and the group picks up the pace. My head and shoulders are wet, and my long hair sticks to my skin.
A riverbank beside us catches my eye as we approach the settlement. There’s a round wooden wall surrounding a dozen wattle-and-daub houses. The river passes under the wall and through the village.
A town watchman stops us at the entrance. Gramps, Becky and the other horses all huddle around the gate.
The watchman shields his face from the rain. “You are men of Versillia? I have not seen your colors before,” he says. The four of us are all clad with the same black oban uniform, and our horses are draped in Cerillis emerald stripes.
“We are indeed,” Trevus says. “We hail from the capital, Lystra.”
The watchman steps aside, allowing us to pass. Trevus, Marcellus and Giddius bring their horses to the stables. With my hands still tied to the saddle horn, I can only sit and watch while being rinsed by the rain.
Giddius begins working on Becky’s reins, and Trevus tugs on the sleeves around my arms, testing that the knots haven’t come loose. Once my wrists are free from the rope, I hop off Becky and stretch.
“Ale ahead!” Marcellus jogs to a two-story house with white lime-washed walls and a black wooden frame. I hurry after him to avoid getting wet. Trevus and Giddius follow us through the door, each of them carrying a saddlebag.
“Good evening,” the barkeeper greets us. My arms are wrapped tight around my middle, and I’m shivering. Wooden floors and orange firelight lend the tavern a cozy atmosphere.
“’Tis good indeed,” Marcellus says. He takes a seat at an empty round table.
Two tables are already occupied by groups of men and women. Their clothes are plain in contrast to the outfits of the people of Antiock.
After finding the seat closest to the fire, I join Marcellus’s table. Trevus and Giddius sit down on the opposite side.
Trevus drops the saddlebags and stretches back in his seat with a sigh. None of them seem to care that I’ve taken the warmest spot, nor have they banished me from their table. The soldiers in Antiock never allowed me to sit with them.
Rounds of laughter follow one after another from the other tables. Do they have this much fun every night? That would be a life I long for.
The barkeeper meets us, and Trevus hands him a small pouch of silver coins. “We would appreciate three rooms, three pints of ale and one mug of water,” Trevus says.
I perk up in my seat. “Four pints of ale,” I say.
Trevus raises an eyebrow at me. “Have you yet to taste ale?”
“Everyone has a first time,” I say.
“’Tis an acquired taste. You shall not enjoy it.”
“If you like it, then I’ll like it.”
Trevus looks me up and down. I stay straight and confident until he nods at the barkeeper. The barkeeper heads off and returns with our beverages. Four large mugs are placed on the table, each filled to the brim with a brown frothy drink.
I lean forward and cautiously smell the concoction. My nose wrinkles up at the scent of bitter herbs. It’s the same scent that emanated from the empty mugs left over from Antiock feasts.
Marcellus doesn’t hesitate for a moment, quickly downing half his mug. Trevus brings his drink up to his lips. He’s watching me with anticipation.
I can do anything that they can do. I grab my mug and take a large gulp. The bubbly drink coats my mouth, leaving a taste of both bitter seeds and sweet overripe fruit. I force it down with shut eyes. That has to be the vilest drink in Versillia.
All three of them look rather amused.
Trevus takes another sip. “I wager that Marcellus would gladly take your burden of ale.” He thinks I can’t finish it.
Shooting him a glare, I take another large gulp. I only have to endure one of these drinks. The bittersweet liquid fills my stomach up fast, but it doesn’t deter me. Every time they drink, I drink. When their mugs are half empty, so is mine.
Marcellus finishes his pint. I take my last large gulp and thump my mug down on the table with a smirk. Trevus still has some ale left himself. Despite proving I can drink their revolting ale just as easily as them, he still appears amused with me.
“Good sir!” Marcellus waves his hand frantically at the barkeeper. He arrives with a jug and refills Marcellus’s mug. Salts. He proceeds to fill Trevus and Giddius’s mugs, and then arrives at mine, adding more of the bitter brown liquid that I’ve come to loathe.
All of them drink, and Trevus’s watching me. I nudge my mug towards Marcellus. I’ve had enough.
Marcellus pulls a folded black rag out of his pocket and places it on the table. “Captain,” he says.
I lean in for a better view. The black material is wrapped around a deck of cards.
Trevus takes the deck and cuts it in half. In one fluid motion, he pulls the corners of both decks back and snaps them together. The cards purr as they slide into one another. He repeats the smooth motion two more times. “Game of tike?” he asks.
All three of them toss a silver coin to the middle of the table. Trevus deals four cards to each of them and leaves five more face down in the center.
Trevus turns over one card. “Marcellus?” he asks.
“Tike,” Marcellus says.
Trevus deals him another card, then calls “tike” himself before adding a card to his own hand.
He turns to Giddius.
“Tike,” Giddius says. He receives a card, and Trevus flips the second card on the table.
Marcellus calls “tike”, and a grin crosses his face upon viewing his card. “You should surrender now,” he says. Giddius’s eyes narrow.
“I’ll pass,” Trevus says.
“Pass,” Giddius says.
All three of them show their hands, and Marcellus is delighted. “Salts,” Giddius curses.
“Yes!” Marcellus takes a swig of ale and greedily pulls all three coins towards him. Trevus is laughing, and Giddius is glaring across the table.
They each toss in another coin, and Trevus deals cards to the three of them.
“Deal me in,” I say.
“There is not time to teach you tike,” Giddius says.
“I know how to play,” I say. That was the first game of tike that I’ve seen, but I think I’ve got it.
“You have no coin to wager,” Giddius says.
Marcellus looks under the table. “She does own fine boots.”
“Jade shall not gamble the oban which I purchased for her,” Trevus says. “Her bet shall be a service to us. If Jade is victorious, her spoils are the pot.” He gestures to the three coins on the table. “If Jade is defeated, she shall give a performance both delightful to us and distasteful to her.”
“A
performance?
” I ask. This rings eerily similar to when I was presented to guests at Antiock.
“It is known that Jade enjoys airing her distaste for us. As her wager, Jade shall give both an earnest compliment and a sincere thanks to the victor.”
“That is all?” Marcellus says.
“Consider the price that Jade would demand for such a service,” Trevus says.
Both Marcellus and Giddius mumble to each other before nodding in agreement.
“Are we in accord?” Trevus holds out four cards for me to take.
While I have no desire to compliment them, it’s not a high price to join their game. I reach out my arms and pinch the four cards between my sleeved hands.
Trevus turns over the first card. It’s a green lion. “Marcellus?”
“Tike,” Marcellus says. Trevus and Giddius make the same call, each receiving a card.
All three of them are now looking at me. Trevus’s hand beckons me to do something. Right. It’s my turn.
“Tike,” I say. Trevus hands me a card. A black alpha symbol is painted on its face. The rest of my hand consists of a black house, two blue lions and an upside-down triangle. I’ve never seen these strange Versillian cards. Their meaning is a mystery.
Trevus turns over the next card on the table – a red rose.
“Pass,” Marcellus says, and the others say the same.
It’s my turn again. “Tike.”
Their faces twist up, and they look to one another. Salts. I’ve said the wrong thing. “I mean pass.”
That seems to settle their confusion. They lay out their cards on the table, and I do the same.
“That is it!” Marcellus says with a smile. “’Tis my game again.”
“Do not be so rushed.” Giddius leans over the table to inspect Marcellus’s cards.
“’Tis Marcellus’s victory,” Trevus says.
Marcellus stands and sways his hips in a dance as he collects the three coins. I can’t help but chuckle at the huge, bearded man dancing like a child on his birthday.
“Jade, you are to pay Marcellus compliments and thanks,” Trevus says.
Right. After stuffing the coins in his pocket, Marcellus stands waiting.
“You have a nice beard,” I say.
“No,” Trevus says. “It must be of meaning, of substance.”
My eyes run up and down his tall frame. The axe on his belt catches my attention. He’s a warrior, and he’s proud of that. “You fought well in our duel. You’re a great warrior,” I say.
Marcellus sits back down with a smile.
“Do not forget your thanks,” Trevus says.
“Thank you for taking my request to duel seriously,” I say. None of the soldiers of Antiock ever afforded me that. I was beneath their consideration.
Marcellus nods at me, and Trevus deals each of us a new set of cards.
I continue guessing my way through the game, never sure of what my hand means. The round ends, and we all lay down our cards.
“’Tis my game,” Trevus says. He collects all three coins and smirks at me. “I have been looking forward to this.” He wants his compliment.
He leans back in his chair. Even with his black uniform, his crimson shoulder stripe distinguishes him from the rest of us. I wonder how many men he usually commands.
“You’re the best rider I’ve seen.” The compliment was easy, but the thanks is more challenging. He has changed my life for the better, but I’m still a prisoner. My eyes fall down to my cards. “Thanks for getting me out of Antiock.”
Trevus nods, satisfied with my answer.
Three more coins are tossed to the middle of the table, and we play again.
They all pass by the time the third card is revealed. I’m not sure why it’s significant, especially since there are still two left face down. I pass too, and everyone reveals their cards.
“My victory again,” Trevus says. Giddius appears sore as he watches Trevus sweep up the coins. “And now for my favorite part.” Trevus’s gaze falls on me.
I have to give him another thanks and compliment. The smug expression on his face highlights his narrow masculine eyes and dark eyebrows. He has a sharp jaw with a square chin that looks like it was sculpted, and it’s complemented by his black wavy hair and short evening stubble.
“Thanks for buying me this oban,” I say. “And you’re handsome.”
Marcellus chokes midway through his drink, and Trevus’s eyes widen.
“Perhaps Trevus has been fraternizing with the prisoner,” Giddius says
“Shut up, loser,” I say.
Marcellus laughs. “Giddius forgot that he had to
win
to receive a compliment.”
Giddius stands. “My luck is absent from this table. I shall try
that one
instead.” He gestures to three young women seated nearby.
“I too am in favor of that idea.” Marcellus follows Giddius, leaving me alone with Trevus.
I actually wish they didn’t leave the table 🙈 I wish they continued playing until she had to give thanks and a compliment to Giddius too…
😂
I love this. I think it’s very cute and it makes me happy! I’m excited for the character development of all of them now…
🤣
@JBF0601 I figure it’s similar to black Jack in a way… so it’s unlikely that she’ll be able to add more cards without exceeding the desired number or goal… she’s very cute in changing her answer last minute 😂
😂
I like it! Very sweet!
Sounds fair – as long as the service is harmless – like making her sing or something…
😂
I expect it will still have an effect on her though…
😂 how can they not respect her? I really hope that she becomes part of the team and a friend rather than just something to be exploited. I have a feeling that even Marcellus may grow on us. Hopefully they’re growing fond of her as a team member…
😂
As expected – I’m happy that she’s getting to feel ‘part of the team’ but for them she’s still a prisoner that must be watched…
😂
smoked
STOPP
I wanna skip this part so bad😭😭
me when i’m delusional
Like, one bed, Sorry, and now 🥴
just three? 🤑
at least she is honest
three rooms?🤨
uhh no
oh noo she is going to get drunk
oop
What does salts mean ?
Yes
😲😁👍
I don’t you can’t get away with something as easy as that
X2
X2
I can’t watch this! 😬
Yeah, she’s gonna lose
No, no you don’t know how to play. Even I didn’t understand that!
X2
See? I knew she wasn’t a fool
For drink it the first time? No.
For continue drinking after realize she loathe drink? A bit.
I agree. It’s the vilest drink indeed.
I don’t I would’ve like ale. I’d rather stick with water, but I understand why she did what she did 🤷♀️, ’cause I’ve done it before
It is indeed 🤔
She’s not a fool!
haha she’s cute
oooooooo they know the romance is startin.
i can’t watch this🙈
i love how u write her with a child’s perspective given she was taken as a child.
i figured that was the case
This is so good already
Omggg Reading this is the best part of my day.
Wow, I can’t wait for the story to enter the romance. Thanks for the update
@rileysing she’s an interesting character that’s for sure lol